


A Night Out

by IliadChan



Category: Doctor Who: Eighth Doctor Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-06 02:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13401381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IliadChan/pseuds/IliadChan
Summary: Fitz walks alone one night and it proves to be one of the biggest mistakes of his life. Slight Eight/FitzUnbeta'd





	1. Alleyway

It was especially windy and cold that night, Fitz thinks as he wraps his stylishly cut leather jacket around himself tighter, stopping for a moment when he notices that there have been several sets of footsteps trailing behind him for the last fifteen to twenty minutes of him walking.

The footsteps stop too. Fitz turns around at that, half scared out of his wits, the other half annoyed; he just wanted to get back to the TARDIS, to his bed, he wanted to sleep after some songwriting or guitar playing.

“Look, fellas can I ‘elp you? You’ve been following me for some time now, is there a particular reason for it?”

There are four of them, ‘Great,’ Fitz thinks, ‘I’m to be mugged as well, thanks San Francisco. Remind me why the Doctor loves you so much again?’ 

The tallest of the four, a blond, answers, “Oh, you’re English? We thought you were somebody else, were looking for some Nazi, sorry German, Schumann or something. Well, since we’re all here, why not introduce ourselves, yeah?”

Fitz cringes when he hears the Nazi bit, feeling afraid for the first time since being the Doctor’s companion of using his birth name. He just hopes he doesn’t have his identification card from the early 2000s in his wallet, if they do mug him, they might beat him for having a German father.

‘Not this again,’ Fitz thinks.

The blond starts talking again, though Fitz only catches the latter half of what he’s going on about.

‘Great work, Kreiner. Pay attention, will you?’

“-vid, but you can call me Hardhead. It’s a nickname I picked up over the years.”

Fitz nods, coughs and scratches the back of his neck, desperately trying to remain cool. The blond guy, Hardhead, smirks and it chills Fitz to the bone. These guys are bad news and he needs to leave, NOW.

“Listen, mates, I’ve gotta be getting home, now. My-“ he struggles to think of an excuse, then decides on Anji, “My girlfriend is waiting for me and it’s pretty late now, so I should head home now.”

His voice starts shifting higher in pitch, during the course of his ‘explanation’ the group of men had been stalking towards him, resulting in him walking backwards into an alley, eventually slipping and landing on his tailbone. The second shortest man, wearing a hoodie tightened to conceal his features laughs at Fitz’s clumsiness or fear or whatever it was that caused him to fall.

The second tallest man, a bald man, holds his hand out, to help him up. Fitz looks warily at the offending limb, then grabs it and heaves himself up with the bald dude's -Baldy, he’ll call him- assistance. 

“Thanks, mate, I appreciate it.” He distances himself further away from the group, eager to stay away from these rather suspicious men. “I-“ he trips over a cardboard box, but rights himself, leaning against a wall of the seemingly shrinking alleyway. “I, um, I’ve gotta get going now.”

With that, takes a deep, but silent inhale of breath, steels up his determination and walks past the group of grinning men. 

Or rather, attempts to. He’s grabbed around the waist by the fourth man, a black man, with a buzz cut. He’s decide they’ve all got new names now. The blond is Blondie, then there's Baldy, Hoodie, and now, er Handsy.

“Hey, where you going, little buddy?” Handsy asks.

Fitz squirms, “Hey get offa me!”

Blondie stares up at him, Fitz is still a few inches taller than him. “Now, that’s not very polite, mister. My pal, Ronnie -Handsy, Fitz thinks- asked you a question. And you not only ignored it, you haven’t introduced yourself yet, we’ve introduced ourselves –‘Oh, that’s what I missed’- and you haven’t shown us any courtesy, on and on about your ‘girlfriend’.”

Fitz sighs mentally, he hates nights like this.

“Alright, alright, my names Fitz, now would you please let me go?”

Hoodie smirks, “Why, so you can get back to your boyfriend? We’re in San Fran, why else would a little twink like you, be out this late, huh? Eager to get back to your boy, baby?”

Fitz had been called a lot of things in his thirty odd, closer to forty than he’d like years, but never a twink. At least not the exact word.

“Oy, fuck you! Just let me go, you loo-!”

He’s cut off when Handsy drops him and Blondie kicks him at the same time nearly, onky seconds apart, the kick landing between his chest and stomach. 

“Apologize to my friends, Fitz.”

Fitz glares up at Blondie, on his knees, can taste blood in his mouth which is never the best sign when you’re kicked in the abdomen, says, “Fuck you, the lot of you. I’m not apologizing for anything, ‘specially not t-“

He’s kicked in the jaw as Handsy holds his arms behind him, while Baldy snatches his wallet from his pants. Fitz goes to protest, when Blondie grabs him by the jaw as if to tell him to shut it.

“Fitzgerald Michael Kreiner, huh? You German?” Hoodie asks, having taken his wallet from Baldy.

“What's it matter to you?” The grip on his bruising jaw tightens, “I mean, er, yes, my father was.”

Hoodie sneers, “So, you’re not only a faggot, you’re a Nazi faggot?”

“I’m not a bloody Nazi! And neither was my father, the war was” -well, the year is 2004, so- “it was sixty years ago, get over it!”

He’s so sick of this sort of attitude, overwhelmingly so, and just wants to get this over with as soon as possible.

“Just take my wallet or whatever, then let me go home! Let’s just get this over with.”

Blondie lets go of him and so does Handsy, prompting him to slump forward, ‘That kick hit a lot more than I thought,’ Fitz thinks.

“Over with, eh?” Blondie asks, grabs Fitz’s tangled, short brown hair. “You wanna leave so soon? Queer like you-“

“Would you sto-!”

A knee connects with Fitz’s jaw and fuck, it hurts. If this is what a regular night in San Francisco consists of, he needs to find the Doctor a new state to obsess over.

“Don’t talk back to me, you fuck. Since you’re so,” he pushes Fitz against the wall, turning him during the process, so his chest is flush against a brick and mortar wall, back left exposed and begins tying his hands together with shoelaces, Fitz thinks. “You're so keen on interrupting, let’s shut that mouth up, huh?” He finishes his knots, then turns Fitz back around, pushes him onto his knees.

‘Oh, bugger me, he’s not planning on- no no no, fuck, Doctor, Anji, please’

His terrified though process is interrupted when he hears the telltale sound of a fly being undone. He opens his eyes, not even remembering having closed them, inhaling deeply through his nose as Blondie’s cock nearly smacks him in the face.

Fitz recoils, the smell nearly overwhelming. ‘Christ, does he not wash himself there?’

“Go ahead, Mr Kreiner, give me a good blowie. I think we’ve all earned one, putting up with your behavior.”

‘Maybe you shouldn’t attack random strangers, then,’ Fitz thinks. He doesn’t voice this thought, though. Time and place for everything, and now is neither of time nor place.

He does not want to think about ‘servicing’ all these men, hoping it does not come to that.

“Go on, Mr Kreiner. It’s not like you haven’t done it before, afterall.”

“Fuck of-!”

He had somehow forgot about the cock in front of his face, and it was unceremoniously rammed down his throat. 

‘Well, fuck you too,’ Fitz thinks as he bites down as hard as he can, Blondie yelling loudly, pulling out immediately. Fitz grimaced at the small trace of skin that was left in his mouth, scraped off as Blondie pulled out. ‘Serves you right,’ he thinks.

He goes to bolt for it, now that nobody’s blocking the way, but he’s grabbed again -by who, he doesn’t know- and tossed back. He stands as far away as possible once he’s regained his footing, feeling deja-vu despite this same situation having happened only ten minutes ago.

“You guys don’t hafta ta do ‘fis,” his lip is swollen, he notices. “You’ve got my money, my cards, just let me-“

Hoodie runs forward, hits him in the side with a baseball bat that Fitz didn’t know he had, knocking Fitz to the ground. He wheezes, he thinks something is definitely broken.

“You little fucker! You’re gonna pay for that,” Blondie yells, as he re does his pants up, telling the other three men to rough Fitz up.

Which Fitz is glad for, he’d take a beating over whatever that was, any day. He just hoped he’d make it out of bloody San Francisco before he meets his maker.

After several minutes, ten, twenty, he couldn’t keep track, they finally stopped their kicking and punching. Fitz decided to ignore the puddle by his legs and focus on breathing through his battered lungs, instead.

“Learned your lesson, yet?”

“What lesson is that, beating up strangers that won’t suck you off?” Instead he just nods, in so much pain, he just wanted this over. 

“Good. Grab his legs,” Blondie says.

Fitz feels his pants tugged down after he’s dragged towards Blondie. He blacks out, or that’s what he tells himself.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Fitz ‘regains consciousness’ he’s still in the same alley, a few hours later he’d say, judging from the slightly lighter sky. His wallet is nezt to him, no cash or cards in it, he doesn’t care though. He has to get back before dawn, and his body hardly wants to do anything of the sort.

There’s a horrible, burning ache between his legs and his throat is so sore, he doesn’t think he can even speak. His bodies covered in bruises, hips and arms, torso, legs, definitely a few broken ribs as well.

He groans, sits up and pushes back the tears that are threatening to escape his eyes. He grabs his wallet, no use in leaving it behind and pulls up his pants as he stands. He leaves the belt undone and focuses on fastening his trousers. 

As he goes to leave the wretched alley, he sees all the dried blood, semen, piss and other substances on the ground. A broken and strained sob rips from his mouth and he stifles it with his -possibly sprained- arm, focuses on the pain there and in he ribs instead of anything else.

Then he gets to the task of locating the TARDIS. 

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The trek to the TARDIS wasn’t long, but it was filled with pain as the space between, his er, legs kept reopening and tearing as he walked. Finally the blue box was in his sights and he rushed over to it, injuries be damned!

He pulled out his key from his -filthy and soiled- jacket pocket ad unlocked the door, hoping Anji or the Doctor weren’t up, that was the last thing he needed right now.

But fate obviously hates him.

Luckily, as he crept in as quietly as he could, the Doctor, who was at the console, seemed to pay him no mind.

Fitz sped up a bit, eager for a burning hot shower.

Until he heard a loud shifting behind him.

“Oh, Fitz, you’re back. Where were you off to so late, or early I suppose?”

Fitz doesn’t dare turn around, not wanting the Doctor to see the pitiful state he was in. Rationally he knew it wasn’t his fault, and that he should have the timelord tend his wounds, but his pride and sanity had taken quite the blow.

“Er, just out, I guess,” he croaks out, throat horribly swollen. Hopefully the Doctor would think he was just groggy or something.

“Alright then. Are you off to bed now, then?”

“Yeah, but shower first. G’night, Doctor.”

“Shower, that’s good. You smell rancid. I don’t mean to offend Fitz, but you really need to stay away from those brothels. You smell like just about every human bodily fluid there is.”

Fitz winces, but nods. He says goodnight again, then half limps, half runs to the shower, eager on locking himself in until he’s got no skin left to rub off.

The Doctor hums to himself in thought, his companion’s odd behavior filling his head with a dozens of different thoughts on why he was acting so strangely.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

After Fitz had spent the last hour scrubbing his skin raw while sobbing his eyes out, he deemed himself ‘clean enough’, then stepped out of the bath tub.

He saw his ruined clothes in the ground and winced again, eager to keep the memories away for good. He empties his pants and jacket pockets and the contents of his wallet out, then decides on burning the whole outfit, save for the shoes.

Getting dressed in one of the Doctor’s silly floral bathrobes, he picks the bundle up and heads towards one of the many family rooms in the TARDIS, one with a fireplace.

He arrives, opens the grate that keeps the flames at bay, and dumps the clothes in, shutting the grate once more as the sounds of the fire burning his clothes fills the room. Along with his heavy, yet shallow breathing.

Now, he needs to get his ribs checked out. Maybe his head too.

 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. R&R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the best I could do, enjoy please. ^_^

Fitz sighs, steels himself for the worried questions the timelord would barrage him with, and exits the lounge, staggers into the hallway, keeping pressure off of his below the belt injuries. He expects to find him in the console room, like when he entered, or in the butterfly room he loves so much.

He finds him in the same hallway, attempting to appear nonchalant despite the fact that Fitz is almost one hundred percent sure he was peeking at him. Typical. He’s got no bounds sometimes, actually most times, we ought to correct.

“Doctor,” he calls out. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, Fitz. I barely noticed you there, I was just-“

“Spying on me,” Fitz finishes.

The Doctor seems flustered at being found out, but nods nonetheless. “Yes. I was. But only because-“

“It doesn’t matter,” Fitz interrupts, having had enough already. “Anyway, could you take a look at me ribs? I think they’re either broken, or really bruised.”

“Yes. Yes, of course. Here, this way,” he takes Fitz to what Fitz thinks is the Doctor's rarely used bedroom, judging by the undisturbed air inside. He leads his companion to a grandiose bed, prompts him to sit, then rummages around in some dresser’s drawers, presumably for supplies.

He returns with a small leather bag, sets it on the bed and gestures for Fitz to remove his shirt. Fitz does so, a bit hesitantly. 

“I’m just going to take a look and feel, alright?” 

Fitz nods and the Doctor gently massages Fitz’s ribs, making him wince. He prods and pokes a bit more, then delivers his verdict.

“Oh, Fitz.” His eyes get that doe-eyed look and he furrows his brows. “Three of your ribs are cracked, one is bruised and another is broken in two. What happened to you?”

“Nothing unusual, kay? Can you just fix me up now? I’d like to get to bed sometime, preferably before the day starts.” The Doctor looks taken aback, but nods.

“This will hurt a bit, brace yourself.”

Fitz inhales deeply, holds his breath and braces. He bites back a groan when the Doctor gets to setting his ribs, then a shout when he uses some weird laser wand for mending the worst of the breaks. There are tears in his eyes by the time the Doctor has finished.

“This will numb your injuries,” he holds up a tube of effervescent purple gel, oozing out, “and this will accelerate the healing if the rest of your injuries.” He gives Fitz a larger tube filled with a foul smelling white cream. Then his concerned deer expression returns, “Will you please tell me what’s happened now?”

Fitz grits his teeth, sits up and swipes the tubes from the Doctor. He rubs the purple cream on his ribs, sighs and reclines on the bed, sitting up against the bountiful supply of pillows.

“What would you like to know, Doctor? ‘cos I’m not reliving that whole ordeal for your listening pleasure, alright?” 

“Just the bits you’re comfortable to tell me. No more than that, I promise.”

"Alright, well I was mugged and then things went wrong, because I've got a bit of a mouth on me and then I was beat on, and now I’m here.”

The Doctor seems to somehow know what Fitz is omitting but he ignores it, as promised. 

“You must be dying for a hug then.” He holds his arms out, small smile on his face. Fitz rolls his eyes, but smiles and hugs the Doctor, ignoring the panic he’s feeling at the contact.

The Doctor notices and pulls back, rubbing Fitz’s arm, gently. “I’m sorry you were hurt, Fitz. I truly am. If there’s anything I can-“

And there’s that face again, that Fitz can’t stand. And his mouth is just sort of waiting and er.

Fitz kisses him on the mouth, pulls back at lightning speed and wipes his mouth. “I want you to shut up, you old alien. Now go to bed.”

The Doctor seems to still be in shock, or awe, but he does as told, crawling under the covers, still fully clothed, mind you. He isn’t tired, which is typical for him, but he lies on his side, facing away from his companion. He doesn’t say anything when Fitz spoons him, throwing his long leg over the Doctor's hip and holding him tight, as a child might with a teddy bear.

Fitz feels beyond fucked up mentally, but if his nights are calm and soft like this more often, he thinks he might be okay in the end. He hugs the Doctor a bit tighter, then falls into a thankfully dreamless.

\------

When morning comes, nothing is said besides Anji’s questions as to where Fitz ran off to. He makes up a lie about bar hopping, meeting the Doctor's gaze and they share knowing smiles. Then they head off to a spa planet, their day not spiraling into an adventure for once and Fitz thinks he’ll make it, what with days like this.

Anji and the Doctor are talking about mudbaths, there are complimentary alcoholic beverages, and very lovely ladies serving said beverages.

He’ll be alright for sure.

Or at least that’s what he hopes.

 

 

\------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos give Fitz liquor and ladies, comments give him a therapy session.^_^

**Author's Note:**

> Like, comment and kudos! ^_^


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